The End
by skywise012000
Summary: Gene's Missus makes a hard decision. Originally posted on LJ Lifein1973


The End

Pairing : Gene/Sam/The Missus

Disclaimer : All characters are copyright of Kudos/BBC - I just take them out and play with them now and again.

A/N: This was posted some time ago on LJs Lifein1973 but I thought I'd post it here as well. Totally unbetaed so there may well be some mistakes - let meknowif you spot any!

--o0o--

She'd known all along really.

For years she'd tried to put it out of her mind, told herself that she was being foolish, but she'd known.

It had only been little things at first, such little things.

"I'll be late tonight, love. There's new systems being brought in and we 'ave to get them sorted by tomorrow." He'd mutter.

Or

"Working undercover tonight – be 'ome when I can. Sorry, love."

"Yes," she'd agree, "of course, I understand. It's the job. I'll keep dinner warm for you."

And so there'd be another evening, sitting in by herself, waiting. His dinner would dry out and go crisp in the oven and she'd sit knittimg jumpers for other people's babies and sighing.

He'd roll home late, stinking of the pub and with a strange, furtive look in his eyes. He wouldn't meet her gaze, just give her a quick peck on the cheek before disappearing upstairs for a bath, his clothes going straight into the washing basket.

He'd fall into bed and go straight to sleep. No cuddle. No goodnight kiss. His dinner would stay uneaten in the oven to be thrown out in the morning and she would lie there next to him, staring at the ceiling and wondering where her life was going.

Some time later he'd started staying out all night. It was just the odd occasion at first.

"You understand, don't you love. I don't want to but . . ."

Again, she'd nod. Yes, she understood. It was the job. Always the job. Always a good reason. It was only to be expected really, what with the way the crime rate was going. She'd read about it in the papers.

"You go, love," she'd say. "I know it's important. I just worry that you're working too hard."

But his eyes slid away from hers and wouldn't, couldn't, meet her gaze.

Then he'd be gone, bouncing out of the house, and she'd watch him walk through the gate and down the street to the car, a swagger in his step and his shoulders straightening as he went.

Once he'd disappeared for three days before slinking back home like a guilty dog.

"Where have you been? I've been worried. You could have called."

"Couldn't. Sorry, love. Couldn't break cover."

"Where did you go? Tell me about it. Where did you sleep?

"At a mate's"

"Who? Ray? Chris?"

"Sam."

Sam. The new name. The new mate. The new partner.

Once said that name seemed to take over her life. Everything went back to Sam:

"Where have you been?"

"Working."

"Who with?"

"Sam."

"Where were you last night? You didn't come home."

"Worked late – didn't want to wake you up."

"Where did you sleep? At the office?"

"At Sam's."

Sam. Always Sam.

But she still didn't believe it. Wouldn't allow herself to believe it.

So she kept on with her life. Months turned into years as she did the shopping, cleaned the house, cooked his dinner, did the washing.

The washing.

It was the washing that finally broke her.

She was wearily picking up his shirts, underpants and socks when she noticed the smell. A new scent.

Crushing his good, green shirt to her face she breathed it in. A light, fresh fragrance but certainly no woman's perfume, this. She checked the collar – there was no lipstick, no make up stains to be seen.

And, sitting there on the concrete scullery floor, surrounded by his dirty washing, she finally accepted the truth.

For eight years she'd held the tears at bay, forcing herself to continue with her life, lying to herself, being lied to by him, denying the truth she couldn't deny any longer.

The dam broke as she sobbed her pain, frustration and loneliness into the cloth of her husband's best shirt.

There was no way she could fight this. No way she could win.

If it was another woman she could fight, but this?

She'd lost him. Lost him years ago. Her marriage had died without her raising one finger to try and save it. She'd lost everything.

No, not quite everything.

She sniffed loudly and wiped her face on green cotton.

She may have lost her husband but, by God, she still had what was left of her pride, her self-respect.

"Pull yourself together, girl." She told herself as she cut away the last, lingering hopes she'd nurtured that he would come back to her, would love her again. It was time for survival now. She knew she couldn't live like this any longer. His dirty little secret was destroying her and she had to be strong now or they would live this twilight half-life until they died. She knew that he would never leave her, for all his faults he was a strangely honourable man so it was up to her. The end had come and it was time to go. Time to leave him. To start her life over again – to be happy again.

Climbing heavily to her feet she made her way upstairs and solemnly and steadily packed her belongings into two suitcases. Dragging the heavy bags down the stairs she left them in the hall as she sat down to writ the hardest letter of her life.

Placing the finished letter on the mantelpiece, she turned to take a last look around the room where she had spent so many years passively waiting for him to notice her.

"No more." She said it aloud. "NO MORE!! I'm worth more than this. I'm better than all of this."

Unexpectedly she heard his key turn in the latch. He never came home during the day. Never. Very rarely came home during the evenings now. Unconsciously she stood straighter, making herself strong as she waited for the explosion when he saw the suitcases in the hall.

The next instant he appeared in the doorway. His faced was blanched white and tears poured in unending rivulets down his stricken face.

For the first time in God knew how long his eyes met hers and she winced as she watched a part of his soul die.

"He's gone." Came the anguished whisper. "Dead. Drowned."

A look of confusion came over his face as if he couldn't quite believe the words he was saying.

"There was a chase. He went into the river . . ."

His voice trailed off as the reality struck home again. He fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands as agonised sobs tore him apart.

She walked over and looked down on his with pity in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry." She said.

He reached out blindly to her, desperate for comfort, for simple human contact, but she stepped away and around him into the hall.

She looked back at him.

"I really am sorry, Gene, but I have to go now."

She picked up her cases and walked through the front door, leaving her old life behind her, prostrate on the floor, mourning his lost love.

_fin_


End file.
